


curiosity (killed the cat)

by humanveil



Series: a greenhouse filled with ghosts [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Blood, Character Study, Gen, Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: A first for everything.





	curiosity (killed the cat)

**i.**

It starts with a chocolate frog.

His mother hands it to him – a gift, from her trip to Diagon Alley. Rare things, those. They never have enough money.

It’s melted, somewhat. The smell sweet. He holds it in his hand – _careful,_ Eileen says, _or you’ll lose it_ – and it sticks to his skin. He doesn’t like sticky things, but he does like the way it squirms. Like it wants nothing more than to get away.

He disregards the card – Dumbledore, again. Eileen scoffs. _I never liked that man._ Severus stares at the frog, crafted in beautiful brown. Tempting with its rich aroma.

He snaps off a leg, keeps his grip tight as he pops it between his teeth. The frog squirms again. Keeps squirming, still, as the chocolate melts in his mouth. It coats his tongue – warm, delicious.

It tries to jump from his hand but he tightens his grip, almost crushing it. Carefully, dark eyes glinting mischievously, he scrapes a nail down its back. It jolts again. Desperate.

He smiles.

It’s rather fun, he thinks. He does it again, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks the sticky chocolate away. Tasty, yes.

He snaps another leg off and continues his assault, scraping away the outer layers. He presses down on the stomach, watches as the frame starts to cave in. The frog is still squirming.

_“Don’t play with it.”_

His mother’s voice, calling from the other side of the room. She’s looking at him from her chair, thin framed glasses on the end of her nose. Her brow is furrowed. Confused. Perhaps a little worried, too.

He increases the pressure of his thumb, presses down until the chocolate finally snaps, and rips the head clean off.

Fun. Yes.

 

**ii.**

Next are the beetles.

Potions class. He likes it, here. He’s good at it. Better than everyone else, at least.

They’re using the beetles again. Alive ones, this time. Everyone groans. Potter makes what he thinks is a smart comment. Severus rolls his eyes.

They have to cut their heads off – _to get the juice_ , Slughorn had said – and he sets out to do just that. The first tries to run from him, but he gets it eventually. Two fingers hold the beetle down, and then— _Crunch_. The decapitated head rolls across the bench, the body still moving. Only slightly, the little legs curling.

Severus smirks. There’s something almost humorous in desperation, he thinks.

He extracts what he needs and drops it in his cauldron before grabbing the next from the jar. This one is quicker than the first, irritatingly so. It rushes around his bench, almost falling off, until— _Splat_. He crushes it with his hand, its guts oozing onto his workbench.

_Interesting._

He takes what he needs and puts it in his potion, not bothering to chase the third around. He just holds it in his palm above the cauldron, and squeezes. The juices drip down his hand, into the mixture. The potion sizzles gently.

Lily grimaces at him from her side of the bench. “That’s disgusting,” she says, but Severus doesn’t care.

“It’s useful.” A simple statement, said like that’s reason enough to do it.

And to him, it is.

 

**iii.**

Then it’s the cat.

It’s not his fault, really. It just... happens.

Summer after third year. He’s fourteen. Lily’s away – _visiting family_ , she’d said – and Severus is on his own.

He’s walking along the backside of the mill – keeping out of the house, away from his father. It’s nice here, if you ignore the smell of the lake. It’s an open space, usually filled with interesting things.

Today, he finds the cat.

Soft meowing gains his attention, and he treads through soggy grass until he finds where it’s coming from. The animal rests near the edge of the water, its white fur turned black and brown with mud and grime. There’s blood, too. Mixed in with the dirt. Bright red and clumpy.

He picks up the nearest stick and walks carefully closer, extending his arm to prod at the pet. It rolls to its side, its stomach on show, and oh. Oh.

There’s a large gash, the fur near black with blood. Severus steps closer still, intrigued now. He crouches down, discarding his stick for a smaller one, and nudges the cat again; trying to get a better look.

He doesn’t enjoy the whimpering, or the look of the wound, he’s just... curious. Interested, in what had happened. In how things work.

It’s already dying. It’s not a big deal.

And yet, he continues to prod. Each press harsher than the one before it. Blood oozes from the wound, exposing some sort of infection. It looks like a bite, Severus thinks. Like the stomach was torn open and the guts were pecked at. A vulture, he muses. Or maybe something else.

It’s already dying, he reminds himself, as the stick presses harder still. He’s not killing it, he’s just... investigating.

(Or so he tells himself).

The cat makes squealing noises, little high pitched cries of pain. Its body squirms, like it wants to get away, and if it weren’t so weak, Severus knows it would.

He listens to how the cries change with each new jab, focuses on what he can see of the insides. There’s a hint of intestine, a proper view blocked by the dirt that stains the wound. The muddy water that soaks the fur.

Severus resists the urge to reach out the touch, to pull the organs from the cat’s belly with his own hands. Just to see what’s inside. To _know_. He doesn’t though, the threat of contracting something too high.

But he keeps poking, keeps widening the wound. _Making it worse._ His mother would kill him, he thinks, if she could see him. But he’s only doing it to learn. A hands on approach – it’s the best way to acquire new knowledge. Everyone knows that.

And then— it all stops. He’s pressed too hard, the tip of the stick opening flesh and letting out another bout of blood. There’s a loud cry, and then nothing. The cat stops moving, the previous panting coming to a rapid halt.

_Dead._

Severus sighs and lets the stick drop, watching as it rolls down into the lake. He supposes he could keep going but, well. He has no interest, now. Not when the cat can no longer react to his assault.

Not when there’s nothing new to learn.

 

**iv.**

And then, finally, people.

The first time is exhilarating. He’s seventeen, finally free to practice magic away from the castle, and it’s gratifying. Tiring, but still pleasurable.

More than anything, he’s excited to finally practice the spells he’s spent so long reading about. The magic that is too dark to be performed where someone might see, where Dumbledore might find out. The spells he’s murmured under his breath in times of pure anger, like a promise, a reminder that one day he’ll be able to do it. To retaliate in the way he wants.

His victims’ bodies writhe and wiggle, their limbs twisting in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Bones are broken, flesh is slashed open, voices are screamed hoarse.

It’s different, Severus thinks, to anything else. Animals don’t compare. The reactions are different, the impact different. Animals will shriek and shudder and do what’s expected, but people... people are unpredictable. Each experience is different.

He likes testing it. Likes experimenting. The Dark Lord likes to test his ability, likes to have him perform different curses on different people, and Severus is more than willing. He knows the magic – has for years – now all that’s left to learn is the effect.

There is a sadistic sort of satisfaction to be gained, he won’t lie. Something pleasing in having someone at his mercy, in having another person’s fate in his hands. In having full control. But, that isn’t the only reason to do it, at least not for him. Severus isn’t like Bellatrix, isn’t like Rosier or Crouch or Carrow. He doesn’t cause pain for pain’s sake. There has to be a reason behind it, a tangible outcome. Something to be gained.

There is a sadistic streak inside of him that begs to differ, that craves to hurt for no other reason than to hurt. But he tampers it – keeps it under control.

As long as it’s manageable, he can forget it exists.  


End file.
